


War is Worth the Wait

by satellitescales



Category: Red Rising Series - Pierce Brown
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Angst, Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Songfic, mustang is also here but only in passing, spoilers for dark age, there is no tag for kieran OR dio what
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 15:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30040452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satellitescales/pseuds/satellitescales
Summary: “I don’t like leaving you, you know that.”Kieran swallows a backhanded remark like “are you sure? You do it so much” or “really? Couldn’t tell.” Instead, he nods, feeling the weight of this war. Of that title. Reaper. As the years pass it becomes less a moniker and more a growing shadow. Kieran wonders, distantly, if one day it will swallow his little brother whole.-Darrow leaves again. He does that more and more as of late.
Kudos: 4





	War is Worth the Wait

**Author's Note:**

> song is [Worth the Wait](https://youtu.be/PArDB5RTnps) by Shayfer James

The screen door hitches on its track.

Kieran sets his mug on the counter, startled at the noise cutting through the night. Out on the terrace, the light clicks on. A severe halogen glow cuts through the thick gloom, bringing into stark focus just how hard Darrow is struggling to pry open the flimsy screen door. He blinks at the sudden brightness, eyes finding Kieran’s through the glass. He offers an apologetic smile.

Kieran, exhausted and bewildered, stands there and watches as the door snaps open with a shriek. Darrow ducks inside, head nearly brushing the ceiling. He tucks his house key away in one of the many pockets of his— _bloodydamnit_ , he’s wearing tactical gear. Leaving again, then.

They stare at each other.

“I wanted to see you,” He says, letting something stay silent. Kieran imagines the rest is “ _before I go_ ,” or “ _to say goodbye_.”

It’s always goodbyes with him, isn’t it? Mad bastard.

Kieran, clad far less dramatically in a fleece jumper and slippers, steps past Darrow to tug the screen door shut. He gets it at the right angle so it closes smoothly. “You chose a hell of a time to show up.” He doesn’t mean to be so brusque, but it’s nearly one in the morning and he hasn’t had a full night’s sleep in, well… too long now.

“I…”

“You’re leaving,” Kieran doesn’t add “ _again_.”

“I can’t give you the details.”

“I don’t want to know. Sit down.”

Darrow glances warily at the couch.

“I’m not going to stop you,” Kieran sighs. He learned that lesson long ago. 

He turns and goes to the fridge. The glare of the interior light stings his eyes. In his periphery, Darrow takes a seat on the edge of the couch, prepared to jump up at the drop of a hat.

Kieran returns to the living room with a beer in each hand. Darrow accepts his with a raised eyebrow.

“I have a feeling I’m going to need it.” Kieran takes the armchair across from him. “So, why are you here?”

“Are you always this cranky or did I just never notice?”

“Only when my house is broken into in the middle of the night.”

“I have a key.”

“You didn’t knock. No call, either.”

Darrow frowns.

First drink of the night it is. Kieran tips the bottle back.

“I’m sorry.” An apology this early? It must be bad. “I don’t like leaving you, you know that.”

Kieran swallows a backhanded remark like “ _are you sure? You do it so much_ ” or “ _really? Couldn’t tell._ ” Instead, he nods, feeling the weight of this war. Of that title. _Reaper_. As the years pass it becomes less a moniker and more a growing shadow. Kieran wonders, distantly, if one day it will swallow his little brother whole.

The silence breaks as Darrow starts rummaging through the various pouches and pockets of his armor. From one he produces something wrapped in cloth. Wordlessly, he hands it to Kieran, who sits with the thing in his lap.

“It’s not alive, don’t worry.”

Kieran worries but unwraps the thing anyway.

It’s a scorcher. Engraved and inlaid with silver. Looks terribly expensive. The grip is some kind of polished wood, carved with local constellations. A star map. Kieran recognizes a few as he turns the cold, heavy thing over in his hands. He licks his lips, mouth dry. “Why would I need this?”

“We’re at war.”

“I hate war.”

“War is worth the wait,” Darrow says quietly, like an apology. “I promise.”

“You do that too much.”

“It’s all I can do sometimes.”

Hard to believe they were children at one point. Harder to believe they were convinced life didn’t extend beyond Lykos. Harder then to believe this is what it’s all come to. A galaxy of endless possibility and it’s all spent on war.

Kieran takes a pull of his beer. He wraps the gun in its cloth and sets it on the coffee table. Looking at it makes him queasy. Wiping his clammy hands on his thighs he decides it’s time to talk about something else.

They chat well into the early morning. Gentle slivers of yellow stretch through the curtains. Birdsong filters in from the open window over the sink. Humming from through the walls as Dio takes her morning shower. The kids will be up soon. Darrow stands and they say their goodbyes. Again.

Standing out on the back porch as sunlight dawns through the late March fog, Kieran watches his brother leave. There is a small stealth ship parked in the yard, haloed by a ring of scorched grass. “Hey!” Kieran calls. Darrow turns. “If you die out there, I’ll never forgive you.”

A smile threatens Darrow’s face. “Same to you,” he shouts back, offering a wave before disappearing into the ship.

* * *

It’s the scorcher; all that remains.

The only thing left of his little brother and it’s that gun from three years ago. A _gun_.

Virginia watches him stare at the hunk of metal in his hands. They sit in silent company behind the citadel in Agea. The sun has already dipped below the horizon and a cold breeze sweeps through. The chill seeps into Kieran’s bones. Dead leaves stir and whisper around the legs of the wrought iron table. Wardens guard the property line, armed to the teeth. The children are not allowed outside the property. Armed sentries follow them wherever they go.

Sovereign and ArchGovernor, stuck in the same shitty boat.

Kieran’s been in the citadel since his home was targeted. He had to fire it then. The gun. The gun that’s all that is left.

The old table creaks as Virginia shifts. She looks past Kieran to the balcony above. He follows her gaze to find a lone silhouette sitting in the same wicker chair as always. Soft light from the bedroom making a halo around her frizzy red hair. Kieran excuses himself, tucking the scorcher into the holster at his thigh.

Dio sits on the second-floor balcony, overlooking the estate, arms folded in her lap. A well-loved cream sweater hangs off her shoulders—a gift from Leanna a handful of birthdays ago. Her hair is bound back, a few stands springing loose around her face. Gray threads through her temples, over her scalp. She is just as beautiful as she was all those years ago. Maybe more now that Kieran knows her as a woman, now that he knows her beneath the sun, under the sky.

The kids have been put to bed. All but one.

“I shouldn’t have let her go,” Dio says, voice thick. Kieran hadn’t known she noticed he was there. “I shouldn’t have let her get those implants. I should have said something, I could have stopped her.”

“Hey.” Kieran pulls up the chair beside her and puts his hands over hers. Her eyes reflect the stars above. “Hey, D, I know,” He murmurs. “I know. But this isn’t your fault.” Though he says it, he feels the dense weight of guilt over his heart. The kids have started asking about Rhonna. They’ve seen the news broadcasts, heard the rumors. Hell, before their school was shut down in light of all that happened on Luna, their classmates were telling them their uncle had _died_. It doesn’t take a genius to connect that to the fact that their sister hasn’t been home in the same amount of time.

Kieran’s insomnia started the day he said goodbye to Rhonna when she left for her first Drachenjӓger op and has only worsened since. He knows it’s hitting Dio harder.

“My baby…” Dio twists her hands so their fingers interlock. Hers are longer than his, thinner, the sigils darker. He brushes the wedding band on her finger with his pinky. “I outlived my sister. I can’t outlive my daughter,” She keens. “I can’t…”

“She won’t die,” Kieran says firmly. Trying to convince her or himself he doesn’t know. He untangles one of his hands from hers to wipe a tear from her face. “Rhonna will come back. She’ll come back, just hold on.”

Her shoulders shake. “I’m tired of holding on. I’m tired of waiting. I just want to see her face again.”

“I do too,” He tells her, watching his grief reflected on her face, watching the stars reflected in her eyes. “But love is worth the wait.” Is one of those stars Mercury? And on it do Rhonna and Darrow, too, turn their gaze to the sky, wondering when they will return home? “Love is worth the wait.”


End file.
